Cat's Meow
by Hanyou Hitokiri
Summary: Grimmjow may talk a lot—a lot and loudly—but everything he says he means, no matter what. He likes to think of it as kingly instinct. If it really matters anymore.


Here's a little GrimmNell for the New Year. A little late yes, but first of the New Year at least. Oh, and watch out for Grimmy's mouth.

Bleach isn't mine.

(((())))

A king needed a queen at some point. Even Grimmjow could figure as much. Things ran that way if the king was to be taken seriously. Of course, as an Adjuchas, killing and eating constantly controlled the mind, the desire to get strength. So Grimmjow ate and ate and ate, not really feeling his feline body grow stronger but he damn well hadn't come this far to become someone else's fodder. He would become the strongest; he would become the true king he was declared to be by a weakling. A weakling's word meant nothing to him, but to have a strong being say that, well, that's what mattered. Killing said strong man mattered even more. Then and only then would Grimmjow worry about everything else.

His plans leapt probably a few decades when Aizen Sousuke showed up, offering the chance to become stronger. Arrancar. Possibly, no, Grimmjow would have nothing less than Espada.

He took the offer and flexed fingers and arms instead of claws and paws.

Grimmjow liked it. He liked it a lot.

Whoever the hell this Aizen thought he was, Grimmjow's drive to become king never faltered. While never a patient Hollow or man, Grimmjow witnessed the power Aizen had, so learned to swallow the smallest amount of patience he could without getting himself killed by the bastard or his blind henchman. It was just, the taste of power made adrenaline boil his blood.

And what better place to find a future queen than in this power house? There were plenty skimpily dressed women in Las Noches —just what kind of jerk off _was_ Aizen anyway?—but none stood out against Grimmjow's insatiable appetite for fighting and blood: the two things that reminded him of the supremacy he strove for. Hell, maybe one day he'd be badass enough to take down an opponent with a glance and damn heavy spiritual pressure! But for now he fought when it suited him, not when a brawl was picked with him, and ignored anyone not worth his time.

Except one.

That Halibel was a cold, scary-as-hell bitch and didn't say much. Maybe when he was strong he'd pick a fight with her, but damn, she was a higher number than him for a _reason_. The rest of the Espada were men save for one sea-foam-green haired woman.

Nelliel Tu Oderschvank

There was something familiar about the mask above her brow.

Yeah. He'd seen her before. The ram thing some time back.

She'd nearly killed him.

Fighting suddenly wasn't so important. He didn't care that she was higher than him on this particular food chain, the woman had presence, poise, and a strange outlook on combat that Grimmjow quickly overlooked after their first conversation.

"Hey," he bellowed. "Hey, woman!"

Nelliel turned only her head, stopping him dead with a bored yet alert glint in that green eye. "My name's not 'woman'. I'm only one of them, thank you. And I'm not going to fight you."

Grimmjow watched her walk away, mouth slightly open in pleasant shock.

The first day he went without so much as raising a finger to anyone, Grimmjow finally had it. Since that blatant display of…of something he couldn't name but something he thoroughly _liked_, he hadn't the damn courage to approach her. Oh but he sought her out now, high and low, up and down Las Noches, and he was so caught up in finding her that he totally forgot that she was only a glimpse away via her spiritual mark. He happened by a window, the same window he'd passed three times already, when he spotted her outside with her Fraccion. Instead of ripping the wall out to get to her, demanding whatever he was going to demand of her, Grimmjow watched. She looked quite pleased, like she enjoyed the two lower lives she commanded. Grimmjow didn't have Fraccion because he didn't need any. Nelliel had some because they were fun, he guessed, judging by the smile on her face. Companions. Not little bitchy maids or whatever the hell Halibel's Fraccion were to her. He hated them almost as much as Halibel. The little one, Apache, nearly bit a fucking chunk out of his arm the other day.

When Grimmjow approached the three outside, hands shoved deep into his pockets—he was scowling without realizing it because he couldn't show the unorthodox terror—Nelliel became very serious, glaring politely like he was gutter scum.

"Yes?" she asked. Her Fraccion, though pathetically weak, prepared themselves. For what, Grimmjow couldn't tell. They fell into stupid poses, like a child's bendable toy figure after being bashed into the ground a few times.

"Nothing," he replied, wanting to tear his own head off. Her guard lowered a bit, so he pressed on. "I mean, uh, just walking. I saw you over here and…" He shrugged, turning away out of instinct to go bury himself alive to hide from the shame.

She stopped him, however, after a few steps. "So you aren't here for a fight?" she tried cautiously.

He shook his brilliantly blue head, tossing his shoulders again. "Unless you want one."

"No."

They actually ended up having a decent time once Grimmjow lightened up, deflated his puffed chest, until her Fraccion Pesche decided it'd be funny to drench Grimmjow in some disgusting slime. After the initial stunned silence, he'd lunged, only to slip and land on his face, sliding a couple feet. In the end he figured it was worth it because of the wide, open smile Nelliel gave while trying to wipe the slick stuff from his face.

A few more times outside, a couple more run-ins with Pesche and Dondochakka, and Grimmjow found Nelliel coming to him.

"Ah!" she jumped as he opened the door to his chambers. At first, he was surprised as well, but recovered quickly, leaning on the doorframe with a broad grin.

"Yeah, what?" he drawled.

Nelliel's face reddened slightly and that courteous glare returned. "Never mind."

"Hey, hey," he caught her arm, and nearly lost his own he noted, but her self-control outmatched his own. "You don't gotta be shy."

He saw her smile with an evil tint before he found himself staring up at her, hair tickling his dazed face. Grimmjow returned her smile. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

Lying awake, Grimmjow ponder escaping. Just the two of them—and the Fraccion if Nell insisted. He didn't give a shit for Aizen-_sama_'s cause; he didn't give a damn whether the man plotted against shinigami or not and was certain Nell thought the same. She just had better couth than he did.

One night, out on the sands of Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow asked if she wanted to get away. The question might have been a little forward, they'd only started really getting to know each other, but he was a man who had a pretty good idea of what he wanted and then didn't let it go easily.

Nell appeared taken aback. "I…I'm not sure." She looked away so he couldn't see her face.

"We can take those two," he huffed crossly.

Laughing, she patted his taunt cheek affectionately, like one would a cat. His brazen cerulean eyes sharpened, pupils shrinking to slits momentarily. He smirked triumphantly when Nell laughed harder, shaking her head. "It's not that, though yes, I would take them." He huffed again, but with good nature, laying on his back. "Just wait a little while. I want to see what's going on around here first." She leaned over, resting her elbows on him. "What's _really_ going on here, I mean."

"Like Aizen hasn't made it clear enough?" he scoffed. "It's for his own gain."

"Isn't that why you joined him?" Green eyes blinking innocently, she trailed a finger around the Hollow hole on his stomach. "You saw an opportunity and took it without thinking."

He growled, scooting up to take her mouth in a rough yet tender kiss, catching her hand and keeping it against his skin.

Nell blinked her eyes open, grinning. "Just like that."

"Huh!" Grimmjow scowled but brushed his calloused thumb over the marks on her cheekbone. "Just don't take too long or I'm dragging you out."

"I thought as much." Nell kissed him then.

But the next thing Grimmjow knew some spindly-legged freak-job was following Nell around, constantly calling for fights, getting them sometimes, and having his skinny ass handed to him every time. That part made Grimmjow proud.

"How come you never fought me?" he asked as they lay in the favorite spot under the sickle moon with her sprawled across his chest.

Nell shrugged lazily and smirked. "You were too cute and stupid to mutilate."

Grimmjow roared with laughter and loved her all the more. Something inside, beyond the lust for her body, was content with just having here there, those fleeting kisses and her smart remarks. He couldn't go a whole day without them, he didn't want to. For a short while, nothing could rile him. Sure he'd rant later, or swear up a storm, but that polite little stare always reeled him back in. And boy was he hooked.

They'd not spent a night together, not even in simple sleep, because Grimmjow didn't know how Aizen would take having two of his soldier-pets in a relationship and he wouldn't freely put Nell in danger, especially concerning that man. But when it came across that Aizen already knew and hadn't killed one or both of them already, then Grimmjow damned them all to hell and asked to stay in Nell's room since hers was bigger. And everything was alright. The future king had his future queen with nothing, not even damned Aizen-_sama_, in the way.

Except that twice damned Nnoitra shadowing Nell _everywhere_ when Grimmjow wasn't around. Which was often, honestly; Grimmjow was feline after all, but even being a jealous cat he wasn't _that_ fucking needy.

"Do you want me to kill him for you, since you won't?" Grimmjow snarled while in bed, pulling Nell closer as she wrapped her arms securely around him.

"No. I can't kill him."

He snorted. "Sure you can. He's weaker than you."

"I can't, Grimmjow," she protested.

"Ooh," he purred. "I get it. He's a guy lower on the food chain and it reminds you too much of me. Well, not in looks for damn sure."

Nell giggled, burying her face in his chest. "You give yourself too much credit."

"Huh! Then what, if not me? I can't think of anything else."

Her smile faded, though, and she sighed heavily, looking through her lashes into his eyes. "I can't because it'd be like slaughtering an animal. That's all he is. His actions, the way he follows me, the reason he fights. There is no reason. Even you have a reason, and I understand that's the way it works here in order to be the best. I believe you'll stop once you can, I really do. He never will. Nnoitra's so low that I refuse to kill him. And I want you to promise me something."

She sounded so sincere that for a moment Grimmjow could see where she stood, and that he stood elsewhere. In his eyes, she already was royalty. The standard she held Grimmjow wanted to reach even more than his long-lived desire to be king. He also knew what she was going to ask of him, and his jaw tightened in his stubborn way. Nell brushed fingers over the taunt muscles. "Please promise me that you won't kill him either."

It would be a stretch. "I promise," he grounded between teeth.

And he was stretched when he couldn't find Nell, Pesche or Dondochakka, nothing but puddles of blood. Grimmjow was hard-pressed to keep his promise, to contain the rage, to watch as Nnoitra advanced a number above him and sneer in his face like the new fifth hadn't killed someone so close to Grimmjow's heart that it disappeared along with her. The Sexta Espada worked his body numb, picked wild fights, and tore Hollows to shreds in the Forest of Menos when he just wanted to kill something primitive in place of the one thing he could never lay destruction on. He stared death in the face, the face of a pissed Tousen Kaname and a strange shinigami boy, breathing raggedly and always dressed in blood. He took a scythe in the chest. All in an attempt to stay the hell away from the leering face of the Fifth Espada.

And as he lay there bleeding, in a spot on the sand familiar to him, shuffled and dented not with struggle but with memories, he couldn't help but wonder. What was a king without a queen?

And what's more, who was a king without his word?


End file.
